


Time heals all wounds? Yeah, right!

by dark_pookha



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Community: HPFT, F/M, Multiple Partners, Sex Addiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-25 22:59:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7550560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dark_pookha/pseuds/dark_pookha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Romilda Vane awakens after a night of debauchery.</p><p>For the "Excuse me?" Daria quote challenge from etiquettedarling at HPFF.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time heals all wounds? Yeah, right!

      Romilda opened her eyes.  Her left eye didn’t want to open, so she rubbed at it.  She pulled away a big clump of mascara and sleep-gunk that had been fusing it shut and tossed it away in disgust.  She turned her eyes to the right, then to the left without raising her head from the pillow.  It looked as if he’d gone, which was just fine.  She didn’t feel like conversations in the morning any more.  
  
          She sat up, letting the cool air of the room flow over her pleasantly aching body.  His clothes were definitely gone.  He was definitely gone.  She stretched, enjoying the feel of her muscles straining.   She ran her hand through her hair.  It was sticky and smelled of smoke.  She sighed; even with drying charms her hair took forever to dry.    
  
          She leaned over and took a small black book from her nightstand.  She riffled through it quickly until she got to the last entry.  She pulled her wand from under her pillow, along with a garter that she threw in the laundry hamper.  She tapped her wand on the page and muttered.  The writing flowed and twisted, forming neat columns of names and dates.  She dropped her wand on the bed.  
  
          She grabbed a quill from the nightstand and filled in, “Unknown man.  Good, but not great.  18 August 2009.”  
  
          She leafed back to the first page and read through each of the entries, stopping occasionally to look at ones that were highlighted in red.  One of the entries, about a quarter of the way through it, drew her eye.  
  
          “Michael Corner.  Wonderful.  20 January 2001.”  
  
          After that entry there were scores more with his name, but the dates kept getting further and further apart.  She ran her hand over the last one.  “Michael Corner.  Indifferent.  28 April 2001.”  She closed her eyes and a tear came.  
  
          _“What the hell is this?”  He held the black book._  
  
 _“It’s my book.”  She tried to grab it from him._  
  
 _“You’ve slept with all these men?”  He opened the book and pointed to the lines of names._  
  
 _She grabbed it away from him.  She met his eyes.  “Yes.”_  
  
 _He sat down on the corner of the bed.  “How many?”_  
  
 _She shrugged.  “One hundred fifty-two at last count.”_  
  
 _“Why?”_  
  
 _She shrugged again.  “I like men.  I like to feel needed.  I want...”_  
  
 _He rose and gathered his clothes._  
  
 _She grabbed his arm.  “Where are you going?”_  
  
 _He pulled away.  “I need time.”_  
  
She opened her eyes again and flipped through the rest of the book, searching vainly for his name.  She turned back to the front page and looked at the only entry with a name, but no date or description.  “Harry Potter,” it read in her schoolgirl handwriting.  She closed her eyes and pictured all the times she’d tried to catch him.  He’d always managed to slip away.    
  
                She rose and picked up her clothes.  She tossed them in the laundry hamper, not caring how they landed or if they even made it into the hamper.  For the first time that morning, she looked at the clock.  She was late for work, again.  She picked up her wand and began to summon her Patronus to send a message.  Halfway through, she stopped and let her hand drop.  “ _Screw it.”_ She opened her nightstand again and pulled out a flask.  She drank deeply, feeling the burn of the firewhiskey as it warmed her in a way no man had since Michael.  The flask fell from her hand and she watched as the amber liquid drained away into her carpet.   She sat watching the puddle grow for a minute, two, three… fifteen.  
  
                She rose and began to wander aimlessly through the flat.  As she wandered into the bathroom, she noticed the dark circles under her eyes in the mirror.  She retrieved her wand and touched it to the circles and they dissipated.  She stepped into the shower and luxuriated under the jets of hot water as they washed everything away.  She took her time washing her hair and imagined Michael washing it, as he used to.  She turned the water to cold and leaned with her head on the wall for a long time.    
  
                Her lips had started to turn blue before she stepped out of the shower.  She toweled at her hair, not really drying it much.  She tried a drying charm, but it just caused steam to rise off her hair and she gave it up.  She pulled on the clothes she’d laid out the day before.  
  
                She set out on her day; sure she would score another conquest, sure that she would come home with someone special this time.  One day, the right man would come back.  She lowered her head again.  She lifted it and looked in the mirror again.    
  
                She looked into the accusing eyes in the mirror.  The pretty brown eyes that bored into her soul.  They stared at her, mocked her.  
  
                “Please, Romilda.”  Her own voice shocked her.  “Please, see someone about this.  You only sleep around because you have low self-esteem.”  
  
                She lifted one middle finger, then the other.  “I like having low self-esteem; it makes me feel special.”  
  
                She checked her makeup one last time and left.  The figure in the mirror followed her.

**Author's Note:**

> “I like having low self-esteem; it makes me feel special.” is a quote from the Daria show that used to be on MTV. Seriously, find it; it's great.


End file.
